


Fire and Rain

by iphianassa



Category: Begin Again - Taylor Swift (Music Video)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Developing Relationship, F/M, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iphianassa/pseuds/iphianassa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warning: potentially triggering depictions of abuse. No graphic violence.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fire and Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UEvangeline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UEvangeline/gifts).



> Warning: potentially triggering depictions of abuse. No graphic violence.

I look in the mirror and eye my red dress approvingly. It looks beautiful, delicate. I twirl once more for good measure and am about to leave the bathroom when the flashback hits me.

\---

“Where are you going?” Jason eyes me suspiciously.

I’m all decked out in a little black dress and my favorite earrings. I’m not used to dressing up, but I think I look good. I even managed to get my eyeliner just perfect, which is a significant accomplishment for me. 

“Out with Jenna and Rae,” I answer, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Jason asks, clearly put out.

“It’s Jenna’s birthday, remember? We’re going to ladies’ night at the Roxy. You know me, I’m so short I won’t even get served unless I’m wearing heels at least four inches tall.” I grin at him, but stop when I see his face. 

“I don’t like you going out looking like that,” Jason pouts.

“Like what?” I ask, offended.

“All... sexy,” he finishes. The way he says it doesn’t sound like a compliment.

“Can’t you just say I look nice?” I ask, hurt.

“You look like a whore,” he snarls at me.

\---

The memory hurts even now, one year and five thousand miles away. I eye my dress, which looked so delicate before and find that I loathe it now. It makes me look fragile and weak. Like a victim biding her time, waiting for another Jason to come and knock me around. I take a deep breath and try to stop the tears which have come to my eyes from actually falling. They’ll ruin my makeup (I’ve finally gotten the hang of the eyeliner thing, but I’d rather not have to re-do it). Still, I can not stop the tears from falling, and I think, _‘What the hell, there’s no use worrying about being late. He’ll probably stand me up anyway.’_

It was hard to make myself believe it. Everything about Carey was perfect. He was one of those boys who met your eyes across the room and gave you a feeling of instant connection. It had happened only a few times in my life, and each time had turned into something wonderful. It had not happened with Jason.

 _‘That should have been my first clue’_ I thought ruefully.

\---

When I get home from Jenna’s birthday party I’m not even drunk. I had a few drinks early in the evening, but stopped early because I knew Jason wouldn’t like it if I came home drunk. I’m a fun, not a sloppy drunk, but Jason still can’t stand it. He says it’s unladylike for a girl to have too much to drink. 

“Hi Jason!” I trill, ready to kiss him hello, but his look knocks the smile off my face.

“Where have you been?” he asks quietly. Too quietly.

“I told you, at Jenna’s pa-“

“Don’t lie to me.” Jason’s starting to raise his voice now. “I called Rae and she said she got home half an hour ago!”

I stare at Jason in shock. He has balled his hands into fists, which is never a good sign.

“Jason, you know Rae lives downtown. I almost stayed with her but I thought you’d be mad if I didn’t come home. So I came back instead. I didn’t even take a cab because I wanted to save the money. Here,” I claw desperately through my purse to show him my bus ticket.

As he squints to make out the timestamp, I let my eyes dart around looking for the closest escape route. If I can just make it to the bathroom before he explodes...

“Alright,” Jason says. He’s not smiling, but I still let out an unconscious sigh of relief.

“Come on, babe, let’s go to bed.”

I trail miserably behind him, still shaking.

\---

Carey is nothing like Jason. He is tall where Jason was average height, at best. He is fair-haired where Jason was dark. He is open where Jason was tightly-wound. I only spoke to him for a few minutes at a café, but I watched him throw his head back laughing like a little kid, and that’s when I knew, ‘ _this is someone special_.’ Anyone that open and carefree has to be worth getting to know. So when he asked me if I would like to have dinner with him, I accepted.

Still, as I stand in my red dress, I am unsure. _'Is this really a good idea? All relationships do is end and hurt other people. What if he’s late? What if he doesn’t show up at all? Will I be crushed? Maybe I should just go home.'_

When I enter the restaurant, Carey is already there. I try to hide my surprise, and smile back.

“Hello, beautiful. Let me get your chair for you.”

He gets up and slides back my chair with a gallant bow, before depositing himself back in his seat, beaming the entire time. I smile shyly back. How did I not remember how good this feels? 

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Don’t mention it,” he says.

A violin player approaches our table, still playing but wiggling his eyebrows, hoping for a tip. Carey gives him a few euros, and we crack up as the violinist walks away.

“Not your type of music?” I tease.

“Not really, Carey replies. “I’m more of a seventies rock kind of guy.” 

“Really?” I ask excitedly. “How do you feel about James Taylor?”

“Love him!” Carey exclaims. “Why? Are you a fan?”

“You could say that,” I reply. “I own every record he ever made,” I admit.

“A true James Taylor fan, wow!” Carey exclaims. “Someone get this girl a drink!” he says to the waiter, who blinks at him.

I giggle, but somewhere in the back of my head there’s a memory I just can’t shake.

\---

Jason is screaming at me from behind the bathroom door. I’ve just broken up with him, but I didn’t manage to get out of the house in time. I locked the door behind me, but his pounding still 

I slip my headphones on and turn the music up to full-blast, hoping futilely to drown out Jason’s angry cries.

_Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end.  
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I'd see you again._

Jason never got this song. I manage to smile to myself, trying to ignore his attempts to break down the bathroom door.

\---

At the end of the evening, Carey walks me home, talking animatedly. I walk in comfortable silence next to him, half listening and half letting my mind wander.

The past eight months in Paris – where I came to escape Jason – I have watched lovers of all ages and nationalities wander blissfully around, kissing at the Eiffel Tower, proposing along the Seine, placing locks with their initials along the Pont des Arts, but I was cynical, bitter. I assumed that what they had was a lie, and not worth having. But watching Carey, the way his eyes soften when he looks at me, the way he treats me, I have to wonder if I was wrong. Maybe not all relationships have to end badly. I feel as though if I were to tell Carey right here and now that I never wanted to see him again, that we would still part as friends. 

“We watch _A Christmas Story_ every Christmas,” Carey was saying to my left, “just a predictable Christmas tradition, I guess, but I love it. My mom even has a leg lamp that she makes my dad haul up from the basement every year on the day after Thanksgiving.” 

I smile to myself and slip my hand into his. He looks vaguely surprised, but gives it a squeeze and keeps talking.

And after eight months of misery, I catch myself thinking, ‘ _Maybe I can begin again_.’


End file.
